


I'm falling for your eyes (You kiss like you want to be loved)

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidental Plot, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Bottom Clint Barton, Explicit Sexual Content, Fanboy Phil Coulson, M/M, One Night Stands, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Phil Coulson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1795060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To commemorate the discovery of Captain America, frozen in the Arctic, the agents of S.H.I.E.L.D party the way only shady government agencies knows how to party - namely, loud music, copious amounts of alcohol, and indiscriminate hookups.<br/>When Maria and Jasper drag Phil Coulson to HQ in order to celebrate, Phil is prepared for waking up in Fury's office with a raging headache, half naked, and with no recollection of the events leading up to his forced entrance.</p><p>He isn't prepared for taking a stranger home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm falling for your eyes (You kiss like you want to be loved)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [Rainne](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainne/pseuds/Rainne) for the amazing beta!

He's already regretting letting Maria drag him to this division-wide celebration.

"So are you having fun?!" Jasper shouts over the roar of the music, and Phil tries not to wince. He nods, unwilling to scream his voice away, but Jasper is apparently unsatisfied, leaning forwards conspiratorially, wrapping an arm around Phil's shoulders, the dregs of his vodka dripping down his back, sending a chill up Phil's spine. He tries not to shudder, imagining how much time it'll take him to clean it tomorrow, and mournfully laments wearing one of his favorite suits. When he'd worn it for the first time, just on a pizza night with Jasper and Maria, Maria had whistled, long and low, and it took Phil a while to understand that yes, even he can look sexy in the right clothes.

"I'm pretty sure the guy over there has been eyeing you," Jasper hisses, pointing lopsidedly at a man making out rather enthusiastically with a brunette. "Whenever they break apart, he _looks_ at you."

 _Or possibly at the drunk guy spilling his drink all over my back_ , Phil thinks, rolling his eyes so hard that he gives himself another headache to go with his collection of noise induced ones. He could start labeling them, maybe, giving them classifications of strength and intensity, possibly work out a rating system... shit, how much has he had to drink?

"You're not enjoying yourself," Maria declares, collapsing against his other side, but Phil wriggles out of the middle of the sweaty friend-sandwich he's somehow become trapped in. "We've found _Captain America_ , you _need_ to enjoy yourself."

"Why is he not enjoying himself?" Jasper asks her, befuddled, and Phil has a hard time deciding which of them is more drunk.

"It's you," he tells Maria contemplatively, after a moment, and she laughs giddily, exclaiming, "Just lighten up!", tequila splashing from her enthusiastic gesturing. Phil takes a discreet step backwards to avoid being soaked, bumping into an agent behind him. "You just need to find someone to take home with you," she explains, and he turns around to apologize-

Only to find himself trapped by an intense gaze, kaleidoscopic eyes pinning him in place. "Someone like that," Maria giggles, and, proving Phil's hypothesis, Jasper drags her away, obviously sober enough to be a good wingman and get the hell out.

"Your friends are supportive," says Eyes, mouth curving into a soft smirk, and Phil's breath catches because _fuck_ , nobody is allowed to be that attractive, ever. "But..." he trails off then, and the briefest flash of emotion flickers across his face, too quick for Phil to catch it in his currently semi-inebriated state, before the smug smile is back in place.

"I don't pick up strange men in S.H.I.E.L.D mixers," Eyes tells him cheerfully, and Phil fights back a surge of almost crippling disappointment because of course, of course somebody like that wouldn't go for someone like Phil, someone boring and plain and completely average, of course he wants someone better. "So..." Eyes extends a hand. "I'm Clint."

Phil blinks, automatically extending a hand even as his brain whirs, murmuring "Phil," then repeating it, louder, when he remembers they're in the middle of HQ, that it's not just him and Eyes - Clint - standing here alone.

Clint's mouth arches, an easygoing grin, but his eyes flash, searching and burning and _hungry_. "Now that we've got 'strange' taken care of-" Clint jerks his head. "What do you say about getting out of here?"

Phil laughs. "Sounds like a plan."

 

\---

 

They catch a cab, because even if Phil had brought Lola in the first place, he's fairly certain Clint's presence alone would be more intoxicating than any other drug, leaving him unfit to drive

The ride is silent, Clint's eyes ablaze with a silent promise as they drag across Phil's skin, and Phil fights back a shiver, because Clint is _checking him out_ , mentally undressing him if the way he's licking his lips is any indication, and Phil isn't used to ridiculously hot strangers looking at him like they want to ravish him, ravage him, _devour_ him.

When Clint glances down to Phil's crotch, his lips part with a gentle intake of breath, soft, pink skin so incredibly tantalizing that if Phil wasn't already achingly hard before, he would be now. But he already is - he's had time, too, time to let his gaze flit over Clint's broad shoulders, the narrow taper of his waist, the strength rippling in his thighs - and he has to fight back a moan when Clint looks back up, predatory, absolutely wicked, and _grins_.

Suddenly it's like the taxi doesn't have enough air, and when the cabbie stops in front of Phil's apartment building, he gladly tumbles out of the door, stopping only to drop a twenty with a quick "Keep the change," as Clint follows him, his hands tucked in his pockets. Phil swallows, because the motion perfectly delineates the sweeping curves of Clint's shoulders through the lambent material of his uniform, a dark fabric interwoven with glossy purple, drawing attention to his exposed- wow, those arms are _unreal_.

Phil, on the other hand, having been dragged out of his apartment by Maria, is freezing, and he shuffles from one foot to the other quickly, fishing in the tiny pocket of his pants until - _aha!_ \- he manages to grab hold of his key, pulling it out and unlocking the door to the stairwell. When he turns around, Clint is close, pushing into his personal space, staring at him with an incredibly intense look in his eyes, and Phil mentally berates himself for letting someone else sneak up on him.

"What-" Phil manages before Clint's lips are on his, Clint's arms coming up to cup his cheeks, and Clint bites down hard on his bottom lip before pulling away, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling.

"I wanted to do that ever since I saw you," he growls, and his smile turns softer, even a bit shy. "Plus, it looked like you needed a little warming up."

"Uhm," Phil manages, hand fluttering up to touch his lips, because Clint - _Clint wanted to kiss him before?_  - Clint is right. It's as if the cold has been temporarily dispelled, the gentle shivers replaced by the gradually increasing need to get Clint into his bed _now_  that is vibrating under Phil's skin. He succumbs to it, grabbing Clint's hand, dragging him up the stairs to the first floor, sending a silent _thank you_ to Jasper for forcing him to choose an apartment readily accessible by the stairwell. When he fumbles with the handprint scanner on the door, he finds it already disengaged, probably owing to Maria having physically dragged him out earlier, Jasper tagging along for the ride somewhat unwillingly, leaving him barely enough time to grab his keys.

And they're inside, and Phil flicks on the light, kicking off his shoes, and only then does he remember that, no, he _hasn't_ prepared for company this evening, and that his comic book collection is still displayed in all its glory, and he turns to Clint, preparing to find disbelief, ridicule, scorn.

Clint is staring, wide eyed, shoes discarded on the ground. " _Wow_ ," he breathes, padding over to one of Phil's vintage Captain America action figures, carefully inspecting it with the manner of a man used to handling delicate figurines.

When Clint turns back to Phil, his grin is small, sheepish, a far cry from the knowing, seductive leer that had graced his features only a moment before. "Do... do you like it?" Phil asks, because although he can guess the answer, he likes knowing things, it's why he loves reading so much, why S.H.I.E.L.D even noticed him in the first place, and Clint nods, eyes shining.

"I used to collect these, when I was younger." He swallows, mouth working, before blurting. "My brother, he, he- I went with him, away, and I had to leave them behind, I didn't have time to pack them."

Phil takes in the gentle flush creeping up Clint's neck, the way he nervously glances away, after a moment, fists clenching, and comes to a startling conclusion - Clint is afraid of being judged, by _him_ \- before resolving to wipe the unsure, uncertain look from Clint's face in the simplest way possible.

"That's just the showy stuff," he says, peering at Clint from under his eyelashes, because he has it on good authority from Maria that without his glasses, Phil's eyes are a force to be reckoned with, and from the way Clint's throat bobs up and down, she may well be right. "I've got the rest of the collection in my room."

Clint blinks, before breaking into laughter, and Phil's heart thumps in his chest. Clint is absolutely _breathtaking_ like this, completely unguarded, multicolored eyes twinkling, a broad grin stretching across his face, and for a moment, he lets himself wish. He lets himself want that smile and other smiles like it for himself, lets himself dream of a tomorrow when Clint is still there, still grinning at him unabashedly.

He takes the thought, and carefully preserves it, storing it in the locked box of memories that he's been tending to ever since his childhood, when his mother had turned to him, eyes alight with wonder, telling him, " _Remember this_ ," as his father had stepped through the door, bruised, battered, broken, but with a beatific grin shining through the grime and the sweat, shrugging off his duffel bag, gathering Phil into a hug, fatigues be damned.

"I'd really like to see them," Clint says, and the smile he flashes Phil sends a flicker of heat curling low in his belly, and though it's been so long - wow, yeah, now that he thinks about it, it really _has_ been a long time, regulations involving civilian fraternization are exhausting at the best of times - since he's taken someone with him to the bedroom, but...

He wants Clint lying across his bed, spreadeagled against his sheets, with that lazy grin, eyes shining. And that's, frankly, terrifying, because he's never wanted someone so desperately before, so instantly - hell, every single one of his relationships had been long-term, measured, with carefully planned beginnings and amicable splits - but something in the filthy challenge in Clint's eyes makes Phil want to push him against the wall and rip his clothes away and just _take_. So he settles for pulling Clint into a crushing, bruising kiss, rough and hard, angling his head just _so_ , so he can lick into Clint's mouth, ruthlessly plundering it, fucking it with his tongue, swallowing the moan torn from Clint's throat.

This time, when they break apart, Clint is the one with the hesitant, confused smile, hand rising to rub at his - _thoroughly debauched_ , Phil notes, with a heady rush of satisfaction - mouth, as if he can't believe what just happened, but only a moment later, Clint's smile turns sharper, hungry, and he drags Phil onto him, teetering backwards, crashing into the wall with nary a care for himself. When Phil nips at his lip, Clint slams his head back with a groan, hands grasping at Phil's ass, at his fly, and Phil remembers that he only has one night with this man, this beautiful, self-assured, shy man, and he wants to make it count, because Clint is an agent, after all - Phil can pull some strings, sure, but that's still little guarantee that he'll ever see Clint again.

"Bed," he chokes out, weakly batting Clint's hands away, and Clint just _looks_ at him for a moment, surprised, and for a moment, it's like he's a completely different person, unsure of himself, supple lips parted, eyes wide, open, vulnerable. Phil blinks, and the confident Clint is back, with a smug grin, pushing them both off the wall. "Bossy," he huffs, and Phil drops his eyes, embarrassed, already turning, motioning for Clint to follow.

"Lead the way, _sir_ ," Clint drawls, stretching out the word, and Phil has to bite his lip to stifle his moan, his dick jumping in his pants, because that's just _unfair_.

After a moment, Phil remembers. "Um," he starts, pushing open the door to his bedroom, Clint padding through, surveying the cozy space with a low whistle. "I have lube, but I don't think I have any condoms left. It's, uh, it's been a while."

Clint looks at him, disbelief written plain and clear across his face. "What do you mean, it's been a while?"

Phil feels his cheeks heating, because Clint doesn't need to make such a big deal out of it, it's not like Phil is completely inexperienced, it's just that... not that many people tend to be into him. He feels Clint's gaze on him like a physical weight, and is surprised when, a moment later, Clint murmurs, softer, "I mean, you're gorgeous."

Phil stares at him, and Clint looks just as surprised as he himself feels, as if he can't believe he just admitted it. Phil feels a shy smile quirk his mouth. "Thanks, but you're pretty much the only person who thinks that," he demurs, pulling the covers back from his bed before striding over to rummage through his bedside cabinet, because he's pretty sure that there were a few condoms left from the last time. "The lube's in the bathroom, near the sink."

When Clint's footsteps pad out of the room, Phil lets himself sag, rubbing his hand across his face, because with every moment that passes, taking Clint home is seeming like a worse and worse idea. Phil isn't built for one night stands - he loves companionship, security, relationships - and he's never wanted to, to _date_ someone as badly as he wants to date Clint. He wants to wine him, wants to dine him, wants to get to know him.

"Everything okay?" Clint asks, from the doorway, and Phil fights the impulse to whip around, knowing it would instantly make him appear suspicious.

"Just berating myself for not buying more condoms when I had the chance," he murmurs, carefully keeping his voice even, drawing out the three packets he's managed to find.

Clint laughs delightedly when he catches sight of the colored wrappers. "Damn, I knew you were packing," he purrs, and Phil barely has time to prepare himself when Clint's on him, bottle of lube chucked haphazardly onto the bed, hands grasping at his pants.

When he looks up, Clint's eyes are trained on him, dark with lust, but when Clint smiles, it's with a tinge of concern. "Let me?" he asks, and, with surprising insight, Phil realizes Clint is worried that Phil will deny him, turn him away, and he lets himself wonder, just for a moment, about the kind of life Clint must have led to always be so prepared for rejection, lets himself wonder about the unspoken words behind Clint's brief mention of his brother.

Before he can think better of it, he blurts, "Always," and when he looks up to meet Clint's eyes, Clint looks... overwhelmed. He quickly hides it behind a small smirk, weaker than before, but Phil has always been good at reading people, is rapidly becoming attuned to Clint, and he can see the raw emotions disguised in Clint's eyes, awe and anxiety and pure _astonishment_ , as if Phil is doing him the greatest honor by trusting him, by letting Clint have his way with him.

Clint quickly loosens his tie, flinging it careless to the side, before peeling him out of his shirt, quickly undoing its buttons, tutting softly at its soaked state, and Phil smiles wryly. It's going to be really difficult to stay angry at Maria and Jasper for ruining it when Clint is what they've managed to help him find.

Clint's hands are deft, practiced, quickly unzipping his fly, drawing him out of his briefs, and Phil lets out an embarrassingly needy whimper when Clint's calloused fingers close around his leaking cock. Clint shivers theatrically, eyes boring into Phil's, and for a moment, Phil loses himself in their pale colors, the blue, and the green, the motes of gold. "Can't wait to feel you inside me," Clint breathes, slowly pumping up and down, fingers clenched in a tight, tight ring, and Phil's knees buckle.

"You too," he manages to rasp, and Clint grins, bright pink tongue flicking out to swipe across his still-flushed lips, before pulling back, drawing a disconsolate keen from Phil's throat, and Phil can't help it, he inhales sharply when Clint shimmies out of the top segment of his uniform, fluid and practiced, the powerful lines of his muscles rippling under that tan skin, because Clint is beautiful, sleek and lithe, _dangerous_ , and Phil feels, incredibly, woefully inadequate.

Clint runs a hand across his chest, and Phil follows its deliberate, excruciatingly slow path through the light dusting of hairs with bated breath. "I've been waiting for this," Clint whispers, before turning around and Phil swallows - hard - at his first glimpse of Clint's (magnificent, incredible) ass, and as Clint's hands dip tantalizingly lower, working his belt loose, sliding the waistband of those incredibly tight pants down, Phil's heartbeat fills his ears, a garbled sound ripping from his throat.

 _Clint is going commando_.

When the dark fabric drops to Clint's feet, and he turns to face Phil, Phil's brain short-circuits at the expanse of glorious skin, the incredible definition of Clint's body, highlighted in a silken gold, the movement of his muscles as he shifts, arms wrapping around his body, magnificent biceps thrust into sharp focus, and it's only when he notices the flush slowly creeping up Clint's shoulders that Phil realizes he's been staring. When he flicks his eyes back up, abashed, Clint is looking away, ears flaring a bright pink, color high on his cheeks.

"Like what you see?" Clint asks, and instead of a confident come-on, Phil hears a question, a need for reassurance, and he lets himself say the first thing that comes to his mind.

"You're beautiful."

Clint glances at him, frozen, and the familiar smug little smirk contorts his features once more before he closes his eyes, taking a slow, deep breath, chuckling softly, maybe even uncertainly.

When Clint looks at him again, his smile is awkward, shaky, timid, and it's the most attractive thing Phil has ever seen.

"C'mon," Clint murmurs, moving closer, and Phil can't help the strangled noise that escapes his mouth when his gaze is drawn down to Clint's erect shaft. From the way it jerks, Clint seems to be more affected by Phil's noises than he's letting on, and Phil has to look away, breathing slowly, in order to calm himself down. He's a mature, responsible adult. He's left his coming-untouched days behind. Or at least, he thought he did.

When he finally looks back, Clint's sinking to his knees, and when his fingers brush up against Phil's rigid cock, Phil's entire body quakes, stomach clenching. Clint chuckles softly, working the waistband of Phil's dress pants down, prying him out of his underwear, peeling off his socks, and the mischievous little smile Clint graces him with is the only warning Phil gets before Clint's mouth is on his dick, enveloping it in a tight, wet, heat, and Phil nearly stumbles backwards, fingers grasping in Clint's hair for purchase instinctively. Clint hums contentedly, eyes locked with Phil's, gleaming, _wicked_ , prismatic colors nearly drowned out by his blown pupils, and Phil has to scrunch his eyes shut and think hard about the paperwork he still needs to file in order to ignore his thoughts of Clint - naked, kneeling - with his mouth wrapped around Phil's cock.

Clint jerks his head back, lips slipping off Phil's dick with a pop, and Phil reels backwards, gasping, before Clint's hand is around his wrist, pulling him back as Clint levers himself off the ground in a single graceful motion.

"Cruel-" Phil manages to hiss, and Clint has the audacity to laugh, snaking a leg around Phil's waist and flipping him backwards onto the mattress, pushing the bottle of lube into his palms.

"You were the one who wanted the bed," he reminds him, breathless, and Phil curses his past-self three times over for denying himself the pleasure of Clint's mischievous eyes twinkling as he slowly - _excruciatingly_ slowly - works his tight, swollen mouth down Phil's cock.

Then again, Clint in his bed is doing things - heady, overwhelming _things_ \- to Phil, and he barely manages enough presence of mind to pour a little of the lube - okay, a lot - onto his hands, working the liquid around his palms, warming it up, and Clint watches, eyes smoldering, as Phil slowly, slowly, reaches down to slip a slick finger into Clint's hole.

"I won't break, Phil," Clint chuckles, reaching down, pulling at Phil's fingers, before tugging him in for a kiss, tilting his neck forward to meet Phil's lips, and Phil complies, slipping in another finger, scissoring them slowly, tentative, searching-

Clint arches off the bed, breaking off their kiss with an abortive gasp, and Phil smiles to himself before sliding in another lubed finger, and when he touches Clint _right there_ twice in quick succession, Clint grasps at his shoulders, at his hips, fingers digging into Phil's skin, eyes scrunched shut, panting.

"I'm gonna do this for a little while longer, okay?" Phil asks him. Clint's eyes open, and though they're clouded over with the haze of lust, Phil can read the confusion in them. "I know I'm a bit... above average," he explains. "I've always felt a bit uncomfortable going in without a lot of preparation."

Though, much to Phil's own bewilderment, the confusion in Clint's eyes doesn't fade, he nods dazedly, biting back a whimper as Phil moves against his prostate again with the tip of his index finger. He sets a steady pace, pressing onto the edges of Clint's hole, and Clint relaxes into his touch with a soft sigh, letting Phil slide his fingers deeper, and deeper, until he's brushing against Clint's prostate whenever he moves, and Clint is squirming on the bed, twitching abortively whenever Phil touches him, muscles working, his body glimmering with a faint sheen of sweat, tiny droplets running across his chest, down his stomach, and finally, Clint gasps, " _Phil_ -!"

When Phil pulls his fingers away, Clint moans, almost a sob, and Phil scrabbles for the condom, tearing it open carefully before rolling it down his erect shaft, and Clint leans back into the pillows for a moment before reaching out a hand, pushing himself away, turning around. "I want," Phil starts, and Clint peers over his shoulder, eyes darkened with want. "I want to see you, if that's okay."

Clint stares at him for a moment. "You sure?" he asks halfheartedly, already flipping himself back around, and Phil wonders why Clint's feeling the need to pretend to want something he doesn't, so he nods, by way of answer, still lost in thought. The more he sees past Clint's cocky facade, the more he wants to learn about him, spend more time with him, take time memorizing the way he kisses and cataloging the noises he makes, touching the faint dusting of light hairs across his arms, his chest, his thighs, and it's scaring him, because this is the kind of attention to detail he usually saves for his work.

It's not that Phil isn't into sex, it's that usually it's a lot of bother, what with having to do the laundry and buy the lubes and get the condoms and prepare everything, but now, all he wants is to have Clint in his bed, spread out on his sheets, like this, and he's never felt that way about anyone else he's dated. Clint is _beautiful_ , sure, but Phil's never been much for getting attached to physical looks, has prided himself on loving the person inside, not the outside, and right now, he's almost terrified to realize that, yes, he could learn to love Clint, the Clint behind the smug smirks and the predatory stares and the bruising kisses, the Clint with the sheepish grins and the love of comics, the Clint who sets himself up for rejection and is so used to receiving it that any measure of kindness takes him aback.

"Phil?" Clint asks, and Phil realizes he's been staring intently into Clint's eyes for the better part of the last few seconds, immobile, silent, and he smiles softly, trying to convey reassurance.

"Just taking a moment to appreciate you," he says, and means it. Clint honest-to-god full-body _flushes_ , a rosy pink, the blush creeping from his cheeks, caressing his shoulders along the way down to his chest, and Phil is momentarily consumed by the all-pervasive need to lick the flush off of Clint's skin, which he dispels a moment later, because Clint is prepared, willing, _ready_ for him- Phil lets out a soft moan, and if anything, Clint's blush only intensifies, and he looks away, smile tinged with embarrassment, and Phil ducks in to kiss the shame from his lips.

When they break apart, gasping for air, Clint manages to pant, "C'mon, Phil, _please_ ," and Phil's already-fraying self control snaps, his ears filling with the roar of his pumping blood as his vision narrows to focus on the wanton, scorching hunger in Clint's still-bashful gaze, embarrassment and a dark want battling for control, and the carnal pleasure in Clint's eyes wins when Phil adjusts the crown of his cock, slowly pushing it into Clint's opening.

Clint lets out a hiss of pain, and Phil stops, light-headed from the electric bolts of pleasure Clint's searing heat sends up his spine, scrambling his brain, short-circuiting his nerves, crackling with waves of fire. "Whenever you're ready," Phil chokes, though he wants nothing more than to _push_ himself into Clint, stuck as he is in this excruciating, splintering limbo, and when, only moments later, Clint gasps, "Yes," a sob escapes Phil's throat as he finally pushes in, Clint's thighs shuddering under his as he spasms, fingers scrabbling for purchase in the sheets.

"Sorry, sorry," Phil rasps, pressing gentle kisses down Clint's jaw as he scrunches his eyes shut, taking in a deep breath before consciously letting it out, his body melting into Phil's, letting his cock sink in deeper into the dark, satiny burn of Clint's entrance, and Phil doesn't completely manage to bite back a whimper. Clint's chest shakes under him, and Phil is about to draw back, feeling a cold panic grip at his heart, before he realizes that Clint is chuckling, soft, breathy sounds torn from his throat.

"I feel great," Clint breathes, and when he opens his eyes, Phil loses himself in the dark wells of Clint's irises, framed by a ring of kaleidoscopic color, alight with a hazy pleasure, intoxicatingly mesmerizing. When Phil remembers where he is again, he's already thrusting into Clint, wild and unrestrained, Clint's powerful legs hooked around his waist, those magnificent thighs working as he eases himself into the breakneck rhythm Phil has set. It takes Phil a moment to notice the lines of strain etched across Clint's forehead, the soft, almost-silent wheeze in his ragged breaths, and he's so incredibly _guilty_  that his dick droops inside of Clint.

"What's wrong?" Clint grunts, eyes misty with confusion, and Phil's heart breaks the tiniest bit, because he was _hurting_ Clint, _had_ to have been hurting Clint, but Clint hadn't said a word.

"You need to tell me if I'm too rough," Phil murmurs, his voice coming gravelly, shaky with barely-repressed lust. "You need to tell me if something I'm doing isn't working, don't just lie back and take it, because I don't want to hurt you. I want you to enjoy yourself as well."

Clint gazes at him, too lost in the throes of pleasure to filter his emotions, and Phil watches with wretched satisfaction as first disbelief, then anguish, then a surprised happiness flicker across his face. "Um," Clint starts, then flushes, but visibly steels himself only a moment later, forging onwards. "If you could keep moving, that would be great."

Phil can't help it, he snorts.

Clint grins at him before jerking his hips in order to emphasize his statement, and let it never be said that Phil Coulson needs to be told something twice. He snaps his hips forward with a sharp jerk, before withdrawing excruciatingly, torturously slowly, relishing the slow, deep-seated burn, knowing that whatever Phil feels in his dick, Clint feels amplified, crashing over his entire body in pulsing waves of electricity.

He revels in the way Clint cries out, a wordless noise, clutching at Phil's arms, when he grinds down just so, letting his hips sway from side to side, and he does it again, and again, slowing the rhythm of his strokes, deepening his angle, thrusting his entire length into Clint, again, and again, and _again_ , as Clint's nails dig into his ass, pulling his hips down harder, harder, as Clint writhes, incoherent, moaning "Fuck yes, oh god, Phil- fucking hell, Phil-!"

"You... like... this?" Phil manages to pant between thrusts, slamming his hips down, and Clint's assent escapes him in a low keen, a stuttered " _Y-yes_ ," as he arches up, searching for more, but Phil doesn't have much more left to give, arms shaking from the strain of keeping himself up, of supporting his weight. Clint is panting, ragged, breathless, eyes completely fogged over with ecstasy, and Phil can't take it anymore, he reaches down, losing his rhythm, stuttering with irregular, abortive strokes, as he pumps Clint's cock, and Clint clenches around his entire length, sending overwhelming shockwaves of unadulterated bliss reverberating through Phil's entire body.

" _Phil!_ " Clint's moan tears from his throat as he pulses around Phil's shaft, the beat of his heart pressed to Phil's chest, as his own cock jerks, and jerks again, erupting with arcs of pearly come, spilling onto his stomach, onto Phil's hand, and Phil can't take it anymore, he comes apart, fire rippling out from low in his abdomen, Clint's soft breaths fading out into white noise, his entire world shattering into fragments as he collapses onto Clint, arms still quivering from the strain, and when his vision reboots, Clint's gently carding a hand through his hair, heart-rendingly affectionate, pressing soft kisses to his forehead.

"Welcome back," Clint begins, before he visibly tenses, eyes shuttering, and Phil watches as the smug little smirk firmly affixes itself onto his face with a desperate sense of loss.

"So, that was fun," Clint drawls, after a moment, and Phil looks away, because this isn't the Clint he's seen come undone underneath him, this is the Clint he met at the bar, all biceps and bravado, and he can't help the agonizing pain spearing through his heart. "I guess I'll be going."

Phil jerks his head up at that, in horror, but even though Clint is looking away, eyes flicking anywhere but Phil, he can see the lines of grim resolve at the corners of Clint's mouth, and before he can stop it, the words burst out of him. "You could stay," he says, and regrets it only a moment later, when Clint turns to regard him, stare completely blank.

"Why?" he asks. "Want another round?"

Phil scrunches his eyes shut, because he can't do this with this- this _stranger_ , he has to be looking at _Clint_ , the Clint who blushed at his compliments, the Clint who felt safe with him, the Clint who trusted him enough to let him see the precious glimpses of his true self. "No."

Clint's mask shatters in less than a blink, revealing desperation and anguish and an overwhelming _hurt_ , but Phil is already shaking his head, because the words didn't come out right, he needs to say it again. "This was-" he swallows, "This was incredible. You were amazing, so, so perfect, it's just-" 

He stops, catching his breath, looking away, and jerks in surprise when Clint's hand finds his, clenching softly before withdrawing. Phil braces himself. "It's just that I want _more_."

After one, two, three heartbeats, he chances a glance at Clint, who's-

Clint's looking at him like he's hung the stars in the sky, lips parted, those mesmerizing eyes glimmering, and he breathes, "Me too."

Phil finally lets himself smile, feeling the weight of the threat of rejection alleviate, freeing his chest, and slowly, gently, pulls out of Clint, making sure to grip the condom at the base. Even through the awe written across every inch of his face, Clint still manages to scrunch up his features in discomfort, and Phil tugs him down with his unoccupied hand, pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to his lips before moving away, dropping the condom in the wastebasket near the bathroom door.

When he comes back, bearing a washcloth, Clint is lying, strewn across his bed, his arm flung across his eyes, half-asleep, and Phil's cock gives a half-hearted little twitch at the sight - holy shit, Phil gets to see Clint's unbelievable body again - though it's still far too early for him to get hard again.

He wipes the residual come from Clint's chest, running his fingers through the fine, light hair, carefully traversing the thin trail of hair down to Clint's dick, making sure to thoroughly clean it of any stickiness.

"Mm, come here," Clint slurs sleepily, tugging the cloth from Phil's hands and letting it fall to the floor with a soft plop, and Phil mentally adds it to the list of laundry he's going to need to wash before pushing the thought away to the back of his mind, letting himself bask in the comfort of Clint's delicious warmth before reaching for the discarded covers, pulling them up, carefully tucking both him and Clint in. Clint rumbles, deep in his throat, flinging his arm around Phil, pulling him tight, nuzzling gently into his neck, and Phil has to fight back a laugh at the mental image of an exceptionally cuddly octopus.

After a few more moments, as his eyes flutter closed, Clint speaks, low and raw. "What did you mean by more?" 

Phil glances at him blearily, but Clint is resolutely studying Phil's shoulder. "I meant, I'll make you breakfast," he murmurs, voice gruff with sleep. "Maybe go out for coffee. Maybe, prob'ly introduce myself, since I still don't know your last name. Swap phone numbers. Blackmail Fury into telling me where you're based. Meet up again, date you."

Clint finally looks at him, smiling softly, honest, vulnerable, and achingly, heartbreakingly _hopeful_. "Sounds like a plan," he whispers, breath tickling Phil's ear, and Phil chuckles, pressing a kiss to Clint's hair.

"Sounds like a plan," he agrees.


End file.
